


What Survives Vegas Escapes to Oregon

by toosolidcuuj



Series: queer clan in the middle of the woods [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gay yearning, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Infidelity, M/M, Mystery Trio, Stan and Ford Make Up, brawling for science, do not tag as stancest, slightly angsty fiddauthor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toosolidcuuj/pseuds/toosolidcuuj
Summary: Stan accidentally runs into Ford and Fiddleford in Vegas. Hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket & Stan Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Series: queer clan in the middle of the woods [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025968
Comments: 18
Kudos: 75





	What Survives Vegas Escapes to Oregon

Fiddleford needed a drink. He’d been excited for this quantum engineering conference, and pleased he had convinced his old ~~boyfriend~~ college roommate to take a break from his research and attend, but he hadn’t been counting on how resentful the talk about West Coast Tech’s new particle accelerator would make Stanford.

“Sure, the linear models are all the rage _now_ ,” Ford had said with a pout that wasn’t at all cute, no, not at all, “but it’ll be easier to reach relativistic speeds and _keep_ them there when Dartvale finishes construction on their synchrotron, and where will WCT be then?”

Fiddleford had excused himself, wandering out of the hosting hotel’s convention hall and into the bar and casino. Sometimes he needed a more rowdy atmosphere to clear his head. Ford could never quite understand it, hence Fiddleford’s surprise when he thought he saw Ford rolling a set of dice. Fiddleford left his drained glass and walked over to the table, wondering when Ford had changed his clothes.

The other occupants of the table groaned and walked off as ‘Ford’ cleared the pot from the middle of the table, clearly in a better mood than when Fiddleford had left him.

“I thought blackjack was more your style,” Fiddleford said as he took the seat next to the familiar looking man. Ford had counted cards to finance some of their extra credit projects, back in the day.

“Do I know you, pal?”

Fiddleford jumped slightly at the unexpectedly gruff voice. His attention snapped to the other man’s face, and he realized that unlike Ford, this man had no cleft in his chin. And the hand that rested on the pile of cash had five fingers.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought you were my friend, you look mighty like him, it’s really quite - wait . . . you couldn’t be Stanley Pines?” Ford’s twin brother, of whom he’d only spoken to Fiddleford while drunk or under emotional duress? The one who’d been disowned for betraying his brother, leaving Ford conflicted between unresolved anger and unresolved guilt?

“What? Where’d you hear - of course not, the name’s Stetson Pinefield, you must have me mixed up with some other grifter, I don’t owe you a red cent!” The man who was almost definitely Stanley shoved the pile of cash further from Fiddleford as if to protect it.

Fiddleford shook his head. “Stan Pines doesn’t owe me money. I know his brother.” ~~Biblically, but no, that was years ago and it doesn’t matter because Emma May and Tate are waiting for him at home -~~

The familiar stranger froze. “Stanford?” He said it so quietly that Fiddleford wondered if he’d meant to say it aloud.

So it really was Stanley. Fiddleford couldn’t help but think, didn’t the brothers deserve closure, if not reconciliation?

He told Stanley, “My name’s Fiddleford, Fiddleford McGucket. Stanford’s an old friend of mine, I’m here at the quantum engineering conference with him. I know y’all’re estranged but he misses you, I can tell from when he gets to talking about you.”

Stanley shrugged, dropping the “Stetson Pinefield” act. “Sheesh, you sound like our ma. Well, if he misses me so much, why hasn’t he called? I know Ma’s passed my number along a few times -”

“Cause he’s an emotionally stunted knucklehead who avoids his issues.” ~~Honestly, it should not have been so easy to break up with him, it was so obvious that he wasn’t “fine” with Fiddleford’s marriage, but of course he said nothing and Fiddleford felt guilty just accepting that~~

“Don’t we all got issues to avoid?” said Stan, who had gone back to shoving bills and coins in his pockets. “Speaking of which, I should really leave before -”

“Fiddleford!” called Ford, walking over from the other side of the room. “There you are! Can you believe what Ed Farnes is saying about -” He cut himself short when he saw who Fiddleford was sitting next to.

Fiddleford filled the awkward silence that followed with, “Well, would you believe it, Stanford? The two of you happening to be at the same place on the same day? I walked right up to him thinking he was you! What’re the odds?”

“Low,” Ford answered mechanically. “Astonishingly low.”

“Guess this is just my day for winning long odds,” said Stan, sounding less satisfied than a successful gambler would.

The silence was back.

“Look at that! Brothers, agreeing on things,” Fiddleford hedged. “Ain’t that nice? Why don’t you sit with us, Ford?”

“Next to the man who ruined my life?”

“ _I_ ruined _your_ life? Which one of us rolled up to a fancy science convention and which of us is shooting craps to try paying off what debts he can?”

“This is just like you to play the victim.”

“I ain’t playing, pal! Not with you, not with anybody! Now if you don’t mind -” Stan stood and turned as if to leave, but something caught his eye and he gasped, dodging under the table. “Just pretend I’m not here, okay?”

“Really, Stanley?” Ford looked as if he were talking to the table. “This is ridiculous. Who are you hiding from?”

“Keep your voice down!”

“You!” called a big man from the bar across the room. He stomped over to Ford, yelling, “You’re a dead man, Stetson Pinefield!”

“Excuse you?” said Ford. “My name is Stanford Pines, and if you step an inch closer, I will not hesitate to call hotel security!” He folded his arms, six fingers clearly on display across his bicep.

The thug zeroed in on those fingers, then on Ford’s face. “Sorry,” he grumbled. “I was looking for some no-account grifter, not some six-fingered freak.”

“I’ll have to tell the convention organizers to hold next year’s quantum engineering conference in a hotel with less trashy clientele!” Ford yelled after him, then sat with a huff on the opposite side of Fiddleford as Stan had been.

After a few moments, Stan poked his head out from under the table. “Is he gone?”

Ford looked away from his brother, clearly upset, but Fiddleford answered, “I reckon.”

Stan unfolded himself into a chair. “Heh. Good to know the old bait-n-switch nerd cover still works, eh, Poindexter?”

“What did I just cover you for, Stan?” asked Ford, exasperated. “That man was carrying a _gun_! Is your life really in danger?”

“It’s not that big a deal. I just owe his gang a little - okay, a lot - of money, but I’m well on my way to escaping to - I mean, paying them back!”

Ford rubbed his temples. “I swear to Tesla, if you get yourself murdered in a back alley, I’ll kill you.” Before Fiddleford could point out how little sense that made, Ford continued, “What do you need to get yourself out of this?”

“I’m not taking any of your stupid science money, Sixer! But I guess . . . if your hotel room has an extra bed . . . I could really use a place to lie low for a bit.”

Ford slid a key card across the table. “It’s room 816. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Thanks, Ford. I gotta meet someone right now, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

“What? You’re leaving? Right after asking for a place to stay? With a gang set out to _kill_ you?”

“Look, I have to meet this guy. If I don’t go, it’ll all be for nothing. Don’t worry, I know how to keep a low profile and avoid those goons.”

“Can’t I go instead, if it’s really that important?”

“You’d do that for me?” Stanley sounded surprised.

“Of course I would, if it keeps you alive.”

Fiddleford found it touching that, even while not on the best of terms, Ford was still so concerned for his brother’s well-being. Stan seemed to share the sentiment, but a shadow quickly crossed over his face.

“Eh, thanks for the offer Stanford, but I don’t think the old switcheroonie is gonna work this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It has to actually be me. But like I said, I’ll see you later. I promise.”

“There better _be_ a later, Stanley.”

“Aw, what do you take me for, Fordsy?”

The look on Ford’s face made it evident.

“Your brother’s quite a character,” Fiddleford said when Stanley had walked away. “I’m glad I got to meet him.”

Ford gave him a quizzical look. “What? Why?”

“It explains so much of college, yet I somehow have even more questions now.”

“You and I both,” said Ford.

They decided to wait for Stan up in Ford’s room, where they had a better view of the streets below. Ford fiddled with the blinds nervously. “Should I have threatened to call the police?” he asked. “Or maybe I should call them right now. That guy wanted to kill Stan! If we can keep him safe now . . . surely it’ll be worth whatever legal trouble he may be in?”

“Maybe,” said Fiddleford. “But what can they do now? Set a perimeter around the hotel? Send out a manhunt for one thug out of a whole gang? We don’t even know which one is after Stanley.”

Ford grimaced. “You’re right. If there are too many cops around, he may not bother coming back. And we might never know if something happened.”

Fiddleford put his hand on Ford’s shoulder. “We just have to trust what he said. That he knows how to take care of himself.”

“Yes, of course. You’re right.” Ford’s hand covered Fiddleford’s, which was still on his shoulder, and he gave Fiddleford a grateful look. Had his brown eyes always been that deep?

Suddenly they both realized they had been touching a bit too long. Ford broke away and took a seat on the bed by the window. Fiddleford took a seat in one of the wooden chairs nearby. “Actually, Fiddleford, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Well, it’s about my research. Gravity Falls truly is a treasure trove of anomalies. I could spend ages cataloging them. But I want to do so much more than that. I don’t just want the _what_ , I want the _why_. Why those anomalies? Why there? And how? From what I’ve discovered, I’m concluding that an alternate dimension is leaking its weirdness into ours. So I’ve decided to build a machine that can help us access that dimension and study the weirdness at its very source. And I know that it can only be pulled off if we work together.”

Fiddleford’s mouth fell open. “You want me to come to Gravity Falls? And help you build a transuniversal polydimensional metavortex? Why, I reckon that’s . . . that’s mathematically feasible!”

“I know!” said, Ford, scooting closer to him. “So will you come to Oregon with me? Will you leave computers and help make the discovery of a lifetime?”

“Well . . .”

The prospect was exciting. Beyond exciting, it was _groundbreaking_. How could Fiddleford say no? _You have a wife and son in Palo Alto_ , he reminded himself.

Fiddleford answered, “I’d have to talk to Emma May first -” Ford nodded at this, though his hopeful look turned a touch more grim - “but I don’t see why not. I’d be honored to help you.”

“Great!” said Ford. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

Maybe if the anxious anticipation of Stan’s return weren’t weighing on them so heavily, they’d launch a discussion on the machine that would last into the wee hours of the night, but as it was, they both turned their heads to watch the crowds below.

“What’ll we do when he gets back?” asked Fiddleford.

“Talk to him, I suppose,” answered Ford. “Figure out his options. We’ll send him far away from those thugs and he’ll be out of our hair -”

“But is that what you really want? Maybe, if you two just talked, you could -”

“You’ve seen how Stanley is. He’s impossible to deal with.”

“Y’all care about each other! You could be close again if you tried!”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I just - It’s -”

Ford continued stammering as Fiddleford left his chair to sit next to him on the bed. “What’s really bothering you, dar - Ford?” He did not almost call Ford _darling_ , nope, no, absolutely not.

But he could tell by the way his eyes widened that Ford had caught that slip, and all he could do was silently plead, _please don’t mention it, please don’t_.

Ford didn’t say anything about Fiddleford’s slip of the tongue. Instead he asked, “Why are you so invested in this? He’s not your brother -”

“He could’ve been!”

Fiddleford slapped a palm to his forehead, wishing he could swallow the words he’d just unthinkingly spat out. Stan could’ve been his _brother_? That was much, much worse than accidentally calling Ford darling!

“I - I just mean that . . . I know you have your anomalies and such, and I’m happy for you, I am. But you don’t have anyone up in Oregon and it’s my fault because I left you. I just want you to be happy, Ford, because I -” Fiddleford stopped himself. He couldn’t tell Ford he cared about him in the way old college roommates were supposed to care about each other. He couldn’t say it that way and believe it.

After a moment, Ford prompted him, “Because why?”

Fiddleford met his eyes. “You know why.”

Their eyes closed and then -

Ford’s lips on his! It was familiar yet new all at the same time. The texture and the taste were rich, and their arms were around each other, holding each other the closest they had in years, and it was beautiful, too beautiful to stop, too beautiful to even _think_ of stopping . . .

* * *

With his new identity safe under his coat, Stan was looking forward to a hot shower, a comfortable bed, and a safe place to count his money. And once he had all three, maybe he’d feel better about confronting his brother.

At least Stan had known better than to actually try to talk to him over the years! Knowing that Ford’s first reaction to Stan being anywhere near him was “You ruined my life!” comforted him in a weird way. It was always going to turn out badly. Stan could deal with that. And at least Ford cared whether he lived or died. That was something, Stan supposed.

Just a night or two to relax, lie low, and accumulate resources, then it was off to Stan’s next great adventure as Hal Forrester! With any luck (Stan wasn’t too optimistic), he could turn his whole life around. Probably.

812, 814, 816. Stan would have hesitated to turn the door handle, if he’d known his brother was waiting for him behind it. But as it was, Stan opened the door to the surprisingly _not_ empty room, just in time to see his twin and that gangly nerd Stan had met earlier pull apart from a passionate (but thankfully still clothed) embrace.

"Whoa! Did not need to see that!" And he turned to go.

"No, wait!" said the country boy. "Don't leave on my account, I -" He turned to Ford. "I'm sorry, this was a mistake. You should talk to your brother.”

He looked apologetic as he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Ford nervously started straightening his collar. “Stanley, I, well, first off, I’m glad you made it back safely.”

"Hey, I promised I would, didn’t I?” Stan crossed the room and sat next to him on the bed. “Sorry I cockblocked you there. I thought you guys were downstairs at the convention.” Honestly, the idea of Stanford Pines, his brother, dork extraordinaire, hitting even _first_ base with _anybody_ was more than Stan could wrap his brain around, even after seeing first hand evidence. “If I'd thought you might be up here I would've -"

Ford cut him off with a disbelieving, but not derisive-sounding snort. "You've never been good at knocking, Stanley."

"Oh, like you didn't walk in on me plenty of times over the years -"

"Ugh, don't remind me!" Ford said with a laugh.

Just for a moment, it seemed like old times, playfully ribbing each other instead of making seethingly resentful remarks. Perhaps that was why Ford now felt comfortable enough to elaborate, "Honestly it's a good thing you walked in when you did. I shouldn't have let it get that far in the first place. It's not fair to Fiddleford's wife."

"Oh yeah, I noticed he was wearing a ring earlier." Stan had thought of stealing it, before the beanpole had distracted him with news of his brother.

"He wanted a family after graduation. I wanted to study anomalies in Gravity Falls. It was logical to split up." Ford sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Yeah, I made a point of staying away from the married ones after that one time in Cleveland. I've got enough people after me without some pissed-off spouse." And when it came to seducing married men, in Stan’s experience, the jilted wife in question may not react as violently as a jilted husband, but she could be more vindictive.

Ford looked at him guiltily. "These past few years have been rough for you."

"You think?"

"I didn't want to think about it."

"Wish I had that luxury."

Ford clenched his fists, then relaxed them. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you after Dad kicked you out. I was mad, I was confused, and when Ma dropped hints about how you were doing, I felt guilty, too. But I had no idea what to say to you even if we did talk. So I -"

"Avoided the issue. That Fiddlenerd guy said you were good at that."

" _He_ said that about _me_? Oh, that’s rich."

As interesting as Ford being catty about his ex was, Stan had other things he wanted to talk to his brother about. "I didn't know what to say to you either,” he told Ford. “I called you a few times. Lost my nerve the minute you answered the phone."

"Those prank calls were you?"

"Yeah." Stan sighed. "And whether it was an accident or not . . . I'm sorry I messed up your project. Your future."

Ford’s stare seemed to bore into the wall in front of them. "I was furious. I still get resentful whenever I think of West Coast Tech. But ultimately, my future ended up where I wanted it to be. I'm doing research that will change the world. I think your future got messed up worse than mine did."

Stan also looked away. "Yep, that's me, the family screwup. Even your ill-conceived affairs last longer than mine."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?” asked Ford, looking at Stan the way he did whenever Stan said something weird, only to shrug it off as _hey, that’s Stan_. “And anyway, you're plenty capable of committed relationships, if that's what you want. You and Carla McCorkle dated all through junior and senior year. That's a significant statistical outlier when it comes to the longevity of high school relationships, if my calculations are correct."

Stan smiled, remembering how he'd helped Ford collect data on the dating habits of their fellow students, trying to understand the mysteries of straight people. They'd given up after sophomore year. "Yeah, well, hard to settle down when you got a dozen fake identities and the authorities after you in most of the fifty states."

"Are you banned in Oregon yet?"

"No . . ." Was Ford asking what Stan thought he was asking?

"Well, I've been wanting to take on a research assistant for some time. I asked Fiddleford to help with the engineering side of my project, but I'm thinking that could get messy - though I don't know who else I'd - anyway, he's more of a lab rat than a field scientist. And I could use a more adventurous type to help wrangle anomalies, if that's what you want."

“You serious, Ford?”

“I know it’s not the sailing trip we planned, but I think it should be exciting even by your standards.”

“You sure you want me there? I don’t want any take-backsies if we agree to this.”

Stan tried not to hyperventilate as Ford chewed on his lip, eyes calculating. Stan didn’t want the hesitation to bother him so much, but if he had to deal with another rejection from his brother, he wanted it to be now and not after days, weeks, or, if he was lucky, months down the line.

Ford finally said, “I can’t promise it’ll work out, but even if it doesn’t, the last thing I want to do is part on bad terms again.”

“Me neither.”

“So if anything goes wrong, we'll talk about it? And not have a shouting match? I’ll try to be a better brother to you.”

“And me to you, Sixer. I promise.”

Stan held his hand out to Ford, and soon enough, the six-fingered hand of Stan’s childhood was back in his palm. Stan stood, using their handshake to pull Ford up. “You got yourself a deal, Brother!” And he pulled him into a hug.

It was a longer hug than their father would have approved of, but they had a lot of hug time to make up for.

* * *

It was surreal. Just hours before, Ford couldn’t even think of Stanley without guilt and resentment, and now, after an explosive reunion, they were as familiar with each other as they’d ever been. Yesterday, the idea of good naturedly pushing Stanley into the bathroom to shower while Ford ordered room service would’ve been incomprehensible. But now it seemed as natural as Gravity Falls was unnatural.

Maybe they could’ve had this sooner if Ford had been less of a coward, if he’d dared to use the phone numbers Ma had passed along to him from time to time. Or maybe Ford had needed a life-threatening situation to make it obvious how important Stan was to him, despite everything.

Stan exited the bathroom in a set of borrowed pajamas, towel drying his hair. "Hey, Ford?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna regret asking this, but I gotta know -"

"What is it?"

"Don't the glasses ever get in the way? You know -" Stan mimed kissing with his hands, complete with obnoxious sounds.

Ford gave him a friendly shove. "Very mature, Stanley."

"Hey, you're the one who forced my eyes to witness nerd love. Now my brain has questions."

"Well, far be it from me to suppress the pursuit of knowledge. We would take them off when things got, um, _heated_ , I suppose." Before Stan could make a jeering comment, Ford continued, "One time we weren't thinking about where we set them down and accidentally broke them. Dad wasn't happy about that."

Stan stopped shaking the water out his ears and turned to Ford, eyes wide. "Not happy about paying to replace your glasses, right? Cause there's no way you told him _how_ they got broken -"

"Of course not! I didn't have a death wish!"

Stan inclined his head. "Yeah. But you know what, I've decided, if I ever see him again, I'm gonna tell him I'm bisexual. He can't hate me any more than he already does and I want to rub it in his stupid face."

"Heh. You'd probably give him a brain aneurysm or something."

"Probably."

Ford adjusted his glasses. "I never really thought about coming out, or putting a label on what I feel. I suppose I'm gay, but then, I've only really ever had feelings for Fiddleford. Romance has never been high on my priority list."

"Pretty sure I knew you were gay when I found that picture of Nikola Tesla under your pillow."

"Oh shut up."

Later, after they’d both eaten and were lying down to sleep, Ford asked, “Stanley?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I allowed to ask what that important meeting was about?”

“Oh. Yeah. I was picking up my new fake identity. But I guess I won’t need it in Oregon now, huh?”

Ford turned the bedside lamp back on. “Seriously? And I couldn’t have done it for you?”

Stan groaned and rolled to face Ford from the other side of the nightstand, propping himself up on one elbow. “Look, I do a better impression of you than the other way around and we both know it. Archie would’ve seen through you in a hot minute and thought you were a cop. And there is no way in hell I’m going to let you pretend to be me when I’ve got the Mambas after me. You wouldn’t have lasted two minutes!”

“I’ll have you know that my self-defense skills have greatly improved since we were kids -”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, poindexter.”

“Don’t tempt me, knucklehead.”

They spent a couple minutes trying to match each other’s glares before they both cracked and started laughing. It quickly became the kind of late night laughter that fed on itself and lasted longer than the silliness that had prompted it.

“Oh, I needed that,” said Stan, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Me too.”

Stan turned the lamp back off and sank back onto his pillow with a sigh.

“Thanks for trying to protect me,” Ford said in the darkness, “but I want to protect you too, you know?”

Stan waited so long to reply that Ford worried he had fallen asleep. “I thought you’d never want anything to do with me again,” Stan finally said.

Ford had thought that, too, but even then, in his heart of hearts, he’d known that wasn’t the truth. “I missed you so much, but I didn’t want to admit it.”

“Me too. I’m glad we’re friends again.”

“So am I.” After taking a slow breath, Ford added, “I love you, even though I haven’t always acted like it.”

“I haven’t always either. And I love you too.”

They both pretended not to hear the other sniffling away the single, very manly tears that snuck into their otherwise completely dry eyes.

* * *

The next morning, Ford answered a knock on his door, only to let a frantic looking Fiddleford into the room.

“I saw that thug from yesterday outside the building,” he told the twins. “And he had some more guys with him.”

Stan cursed. “They know I’m here.”

"We'll have to sneak you past them somehow," said Ford. "You remember what you said yesterday? About switching places?"

"Yeah, I'm not letting you pretend to be me!"

"No, I meant about how good _you_ are at pretending to be _me_. What do you say to two Fords running around this block?"

Stan grinned. "I'm listening."

Forty minutes later, Ford was stuffing cigarettes in the extra fingers of his gloves while Stan put on Ford's spare glasses.

"I remember these being blurrier," Stan said.

"When was the last time you saw an optometrist?" Ford asked as he handed Stan the gloves.

"Remind me what that is again?"

"You can still see well enough with those on, cain't you?" asked Fiddleford.

"Don't worry, I've had plenty of practice wearing these," Stan confirmed. "Is there anyone I should watch out for? Someone who might blow my cover?"

"Nobody in particular . . ." said Ford.

"If somebody tries to talk to you, just bring up West Coast Tech's new particle accelerator," said Fiddleford. "Everyone's been talking about it."

"Particle accelerator," Stan repeated.

"If somebody asks you about my research, don't try to come up with too many details," Ford advised him. "I have a reputation for being cagey about my work until it's published."

"And don't you ever, under any circumstances, bring up cuprate superconductors," added Fiddleford.

"Sheesh, why would I?"

Before Ford could stop him, Fiddleford said gravely, "A professor from Dartvale ended up having to get stitches after a debate on it went south."

Stan's face lit up, and Ford tried not to show his irritation with Fiddleford. The two of them had only met yesterday, and so Fiddleford couldn't be as familiar with Stan's pugilistic nature as Ford was.

"People get into _fights_ at these nerd conventions?"

"Not today they're not," said Ford. "Because _you_ are _not_ going to bring up cuprate superconductors. Got it?"

"Okay, okay, geez, what do you take me for? But let's say, hypothetically, my cover's about to be blown and I need a distraction -"

"You're not going to need a distraction, because we're going to make a clean getaway."

Fiddleford tried to look casual as he knocked on a wooden dresser.

"Listen, if we just stick to the plan, by tomorrow afternoon we'll all be safe and sound in Gravity Falls," Ford assured them.

Fiddleford winced guiltily at the mention of Gravity Falls. "Ah, Stanford, about that - I - wait. Is Stanley coming back with you to Gravity Falls?"

"You bet!" said Stanley.

"We talked some things out last night," Ford explained. "It's fine between us now. And I was thinking he could do more of the anomaly wrangling while you helped with the machine. That is, if you still want to . . ."

"I do want to," Fiddleford admitted. "Too much. And that's why I can't go. Even if we managed to keep anything from happening between us -" Ford's mind conjured the uncomfortable image of Stan having to chaperone them like in some lurid period drama - "the feelings are still there. Emma May and Tate deserve my whole attention."

"I - I understand," said Ford, but inwardly he felt like screaming. Though he felt guilty about abusing Emma May's trust, these past couple days of having Fiddleford at his side had been wonderful. He had been hoping that could continue in Gravity Falls. And as helpful as Stan would be with the field research, the machine was the centerpiece of Ford's work, and he truly couldn't think of anyone else with Fiddleford's skills who he also deeply trusted. Bill would be so disappointed . . .

But those worries could wait. Stan deserved Ford’s full attention now.

“Well, it’s time to put the plan in motion. I’ll see you both in about half an hour.”

And with that, Ford was out the door. He went through one of his breathing exercises, trying to appear casual as he took the elevator down and walked to a payphone outside of the hotel. After a quick flip through the phone book and keypad dial, Ford brought the receiver to his ear.

“Hello? Yes, someone parked an El Diablo on my property a couple days ago. Here’s where I need it towed to . . .”

* * *

“So,” Fiddleford started speaking as he and Stan hiked down the stairwells to the convention hall.

“So . . .” Stan was at a bit of a loss as to how interactions with this Fiddleford guy would go. He was grateful to the nerd for helping him and Ford reconnect, and for being willing to help get Stan out of this mess. But he’d also shut down his brother pretty hard a few minutes ago. For pretty understandable reasons, but still. It was a weird situation.

“You actually were able to talk through your problems with him?”

“The main ones, yeah. There’s no helping his pretentious nerdiness, though.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Fiddleford was clearly not one to talk when it came to nerdiness. “I’m just . . . impressed, that in one night the two of you went from snarling at each other to him trusting you to help with his research. That’s really something.”

“Yeah. I guess getting to talk to each other at all was half the battle. The longer we went without contact, the more intimidating it got. Once we got over the shock of seeing each other again, well. We had to talk it out. And honestly, me catching you two, uh, you know -”

“I’m sorry, that was so awkward -”

“Yeah, it was weird. Not because you’re a man, I mean, I’m bisexual, I always kind of figured Ford was gay, but I never thought I’d catch him with a married guy. He was the ‘good twin’ growing up. Catching him being less than perfect kind of broke the ice, I think.”

Fiddleford averted his gaze. “Guess something good came out of me being a lowlife adulterer, then. God, I’m that awful cheating bisexual stereotype, now, ain’t I?”

“And I’m the money grubbing Jewish stereotype. As if gentiles aren’t running the capitalist con we all gotta survive in. As if straight people didn’t invent infidelity when they invented marriage. But our behavior gets blamed on how we were born. Fuck that.”

“Heh. Keep talking like that, Stan. You’re taking me back to my hippie days.”

“Oh, I bet you talked radical politics with Ford in college. I bet he ate all that idealism up.”

“Well, he does have a hell of a pragmatic streak, so he was never as gung ho revolutionary as some of the people we ran with, but yeah. We had a lot of talks about building a better world.”

“Between all the pillow talk about DDMD, I’m sure,” Stan added with a smirk. Boy, would it have been fun to tease Ford about his nerd lover back then. It’s the little things you miss when you feud with family.

“Different kind of worldbuilding, but yeah,” Fiddleford conceded.

As they reached the convention floor, Stan had to take a minute to get into character. Nerd talk. Sweaters. Particle Accelerator. He characteristically adjusted Ford’s glasses.

Turned out, Stan had nothing to worry about. Hardly anyone took a second glance at him as he and Fiddlenerd popped in on a few grad student presentations. They never stayed long, which was good, because otherwise Stan would’ve fallen asleep. Slowly they made their way to the end of the convention hall, where the back door was.

 _This is going to be easier than I thought_ , Stan told himself. And of course that was when it all went to shit.

Stan felt pressure on his right hand, and suddenly his glove came loose. Stan used the leverage his attacker gave him to throw him to the floor, where Stan kicked his head, knocking him out. He took the glove back from the man he recognized as a Mamba goon.

But the nerds, who thought the goon was simply another scientist at the convention, all looked shocked at Stan’s violent actions. So much for keeping a low profile.

“Um,” said Stan, stuffing his now gloveless hand into his pocket and hoping nobody would notice the cigarettes that had fallen to the floor, “he said that uh, cuprate superconductors? They’re valid and . . . good. Good science. This guy’s all about the cuprate superconductors!”

“I thought cuprate superconductors would be right up your alley, Dr. Pines,” said some smarmy, nasally sounding nerd. “Because you’ll be showing us your data on Bigfoot before we see anything that could support that nonsense!”

“Hey now,” said another nerd. “Cooper’s work on niobium-based compounds -”

“That’s unsupported extrapolation and you know it!” cried Dr. Smarm.

“I’ll show you unsupported!” And the other nerd tackled Dr. Smarm.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” cried Stan, thrilled to witness the glorious brawl spreading through the convention hall. Half these wimps barely knew how to throw a punch, but did that stop them fistfighting for science? No! They were going to pound the scientific theory out of each other, and nobody could stop it, not the convention organizers, not God, not even Carl Sagan himself. Stan wanted to weep from the sheer beauty of it.

“Stanley!” cried Fiddleford, dodging a punch from a nerd who yelled, “BCS theory doesn’t EXPLAIN THAT!” He clung to Stan’s arm like a lifeline. “We gotta get out of here!”

Stan noticed a few Mambas trying to wade through the frenzied scientists, and agreed. He and Fiddleford stuck close to each other as they escaped through the back door, just in time for Ford to pull in with Fiddleford’s Chevy truck. Stan wanted to yell at him for honking so frantically, but that was before he noticed the other vehicles on Ford’s tail.

Stan cursed as he climbed in the truck. Fiddleford ran up to the driver’s side and took over the wheel from Ford. Within seconds they were burning rubber.

“You didn’t tell me your ex was some kind of stunt driver,” Stan told Ford, impressed as Fiddleford weaved in and out of traffic, turning left out of an intersection at the very last second.

“He _is_ a mechanical engineer,” said Ford.

“A mechanical engineer who’s spent a lot of time pulling stunts on every back road in Tennessee!” added Fiddleford. “Yee-haw, motherfuckers!”

Only one other car was left in the chase as they pulled onto the freeway. It kept a close tail on them as they swerved around the other vehicles. For one terrifying moment, it pulled up alongside them, but then -

Fiddleford slammed on the brakes, just as their pursuers attempted to swerve into them. Instead, the Mambas sped ahead of them in the same lane. The other driver must have been distracted by their sudden disappearance, because they drove straight into the truck ahead of them.

Switching lanes to avoid the crash, Fiddleford punched the gas again, leaving the Mambas far behind them. Stan whooped, celebrating their successful getaway. Ford laid a spur-of-the-moment kiss on Fiddleford’s cheek, then sprung back as if he’d been burned.

“Sorry!” said Ford. “Sorry, that was -”

“I know, Stanford.” Fiddleford’s hands clenched on the wheel. “I know.”

 _Geez, Sixer, way to kill the mood_ , thought Stan. “Holy shit, Fiddleford, you were on fire!” Stan enthused, trying to get the mood back. “You’re officially the coolest nerd I know.”

“I’ll concede the title,” Ford assented.

“You were never in the running, poindexter!”

Fiddleford’s face relaxed into a weak smile. “I appreciate that, Stanley. And for that, I won’t box your ears for doing the _one thing_ we told you _not_ to do!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“What? Seriously?” asked Ford. “You started a fistfight over cuprate superconductors?”

“Hey, that Mamba goon attacked me first, and I had to come up with some kind of cover!”

“ _Stanley_ -”

“Ed Farnsworth got the wind knocked out of him, though,” said Fiddleford. “Wish I’d brought a camera.”

“Really? Now I wish you had, too,” said Ford. “Especially since Stanley’s actions have probably gotten me uninvited to next year’s convention.”

“Like it didn’t take some convincing for you to leave your research and come to this year’s convention anyway.” Fiddleford nudged Ford with his elbow.

Soon they made it to the rest stop where they had arranged for Stan’s car to be towed.

“Ah, my baby, I missed you,” said Stan, spreading his arms out over the hood in a mock hug.

“I suppose this is where we part ways,” said Fiddleford. “I know we talked about driving back together, Stanford, but I think it would be better if you and Stan just took his El Diablo back to Gravity Falls, and I went back to Palo Alto.”

“I . . . guess that does make sense,” said Ford. He was not doing well at hiding his disappointment one bit.

“I’m sorry, Stanford. I thought we could be around each other without dredging up these old feelings, but it’s too much. It’s not right.”

“I know. Will . . . will we see each other again? Even as friends?”

Ford’s beseeching look must have been too much for Fiddleford, who averted his gaze. “Stanford, it’d kill me to lose you as a friend, but - but we need to cool off from all this excitement. I think we should give it some space. Just for now.”

Oh geez. Ford looked almost like he could cry.

Stan decided to step in before things could get too heavy. “Hey, it was good to meet you,” he said, offering Fiddleford a handshake. “Thanks for bringing us back together, and helping save my skin.”

“Of course,” said Fiddleford, taking the handshake. “I’m glad y’all were able to work things out. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost contact with any of my brothers the same way y’all did.”

“You’ll have to show me some of your stunt driving moves someday.”

“Heh. I think I’d like that.”

“I’ll miss you,” Ford finally said.

Fiddleford dropped Stan’s hand. “I’ll miss you, too. I . . .” Fiddleford reached out to Ford before retracting his hand slightly. Then he seemed to throw caution to the wind and give Ford a hug. “It’s never been easy, saying goodbye to you, Stanford Pines,” he said.

“It hasn’t been easy for me, either,” said Ford.

Still embracing, Fiddleford lifted his head from Ford’s shoulder, and when their eyes met, the chemistry was strong enough to make Stan want to rip his own eyes out of his head. “Ahem,” he coughed conspicuously before they could kiss.

They jolted apart from each other. “Right,” said Ford. “So, goodbye for now?”

“Goodbye for now.” And with a wave, Fiddleford climbed back in his truck.

Ford didn’t say anything, just watched him drive off. When the Chevy became nothing but a speck in the distance, Stan said, “Hey bro, we’ll get you over him, don’t you worry. Portland’s not that far from Gravity Falls, right? I hear there’s some great places to meet guys up there -”

“I don’t want to get over him,” said Ford. “I don’t want to meet someone new. I just want to get back to my research.”

“Hey, I’m on it,” said Stan. “We’re gonna make some awesome discoveries and kick ass just like the old days, right?”

Ford clapped a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Better than the old days.”

“That’s the spirit.” And with a punch to Ford’s other shoulder, he said, “The Pines Twins are back in business, baby!”

It only took a little coaxing to get Ford to join their familiar chant. “Pines! Pines! Pines! Pines!” Stan hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that. It was good to hear it again.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't taken a physics class in like, seven years, but thanks to Google I could find a topic that was actually controversial among physicists in the late 70s and 80s, and enough key words for scientists to yell before punching each other. The things you research for fanfic, amirite?
> 
> Also the broken glasses while making out thing did happen to me. I was still suffering from comp het at the time, so sadly, it wasn't gay. ~~I'm definitely not yearning for a gorgeous woman to break my glasses haha, nooooooope~~
> 
> Anyway, this may end up being part one of a very self-indulgent series, we'll see what happens.


End file.
